


An Apple a Day

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidents, Because It's Only a Little Over Two Months Away It's Time, But He's Still My Precious Child, Castiel is a Sweetheart, Doctor Dean Winchester, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Hospitals, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Probably Because I Raised Him--I Mean Wrote Him, Teacher Castiel, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 12:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15796173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “Well, those apples didn’t spare you any trips here, did they?”Cas doesn’t know if the wink tossed to him is an invitation for an unnecessary follow-up or an antidote to his throbbing nose and contortionist ankles, one now swollen after a stunt gone very wrong, but with the small smile slipping past his lips, he figures it’s a mix of both—hopes for it, in fact. Dr. Winchester, who insists on being called Dean, is by no means a sore sight for already sore patients. His smile pushes up not daisies, but marigolds budding on his high-set cheekbones, creating creases surrounding his garden green eyes.





	An Apple a Day

“Well, those apples didn’t spare you any trips here, did they?”

Cas doesn’t know if the wink tossed to him is an invitation for an unnecessary follow-up or an antidote to his throbbing nose and contortionist ankles, one now swollen after a stunt gone very wrong, but with the small smile slipping past his lips, he figures it’s a mix of both—hopes for it, in fact. Dr. Winchester, who insists on being called Dean, is by no means a sore sight for already sore patients. His smile pushes up not daisies, but marigolds budding on his high-set cheekbones, creating creases surrounding his garden green eyes.

“Yeah,” scoffs Cas, “guess I proved them wrong.”

“You know you’re supposed to have the kids grab the apples, right?”

“Low-hanging fruit, Dean.”

“That’s an ironic joke, don’t you think?”

“I lost my dignity sometime between Garth Fitzgerald commenting how ‘particularly gay’ I looked across the cafeteria after overhearing Walt and Roy Remington use it against Kevin Tran at recess—making the mistake, of course, of telling him ‘gay’ meant great—and tripping over the apple bobbing bucket in front of the entire staff, parents, and students alike. My life is basically an endless of opportunity for low-hanging jokes.”

Dean shrugs in a white doctor’s coat he’s somehow drowning in, given his broad stature. “So, apple bobbing?”

Cas nods. “I work at Lebanon Elementary. The other teachers and I are raising money for UNICEF. Every year, they hold a [Trick-or-Treat for Halloween fundraiser](https://secure.unicefusa.org/donate/make-your-trick-or-treat-unicef-donation-online/16042) that helps kids affected by disaster. The kids themselves used to go door-to-door asking for donations, but since they’re more invested in their phones, have crippling social anxiety, and that’s _extremely_ unsafe nowadays, we decided to throw a carnival at the school,” he explains, dreading how nasally his voice is. “Not that carnivals are any more appealing than smartphones, but I promised my homeroom a pizza party if they brought the most guests.”

Dean pauses wrapping Cas’s foot to look up at him with a curious smile. “That’s really cool.”

Cas tilts his head a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s an important cause. I’ve treated hundreds of kids affected by disasters during Hurricane Sandy back in 2012. There’s definitely a need for that money.” He pauses. “That also explains the Van Helsing costume. It looks good, by the way.” Dean’s eyes travel from Cas’s long black wig to his knee-high boots before he grins. Cas isn’t sure way. He probably closer resembles Vince Vincente after a bender gone horribly wrong. “ _However,_ that doesn’t explain how you tripped over a bucket.”

“Have you tried looking after half a dozen unsupervised fifth graders at once?”

“Well, there’s my brother and his daughter Magda, but half the time, he’s a bigger kid than she is. And when she was younger, and I would babysit for Sam, she’d mostly just teach me magic tricks.”

“Until you’ve seen a whole raffle ticket roll disappear, you don’t know real magic.”

“Fair enough.”

Cas takes a better look around the small white room and through the giant one-way windows into the even smaller, empty waiting room next to the receptionist area, where the fiery redhead that took down his basic information is surfing Facebook. “So you run this clinic by yourself?”

“Oh no, I would’ve run it into the ground by now,” Dean laughs. It’s a deep, hearty laugh that shakes the halo atop of his head. “There’s five of us. Me, Sam, who doubles as the bookkeeper, Charlie, the receptionist, Lisa, the nurse who took you back—also my ex-wife—and Benny, the on-call phlebotomist. He’s that guy you saw in passing, and yes, he’s dressed as a vampire.”

Cas throws his head back. “I’m sorry, your _ex-wife?_ ”

“Oh yeah,” Dean confirms, smiling as he shakes his head, “she’s a firecracker, but we’re on good terms. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my relationship with stepson.”

“Wow, that… I mean, I definitely couldn’t work with my ex-girlfriend. No matter how much I loved Clarence.”

“Clarence?”

“Her labradoodle,” Cas clarifies. “Big, brown, super fluffy. He made for a good body pillow.”

“Did someone say labradoodle?”

Cas cranes his head to look past Dean and to the other man in the white overcoat. He must be Dr. Winchester. Or… well, the other Dr. Winchester. The difference between the brothers is vast, however paralleled by their unique attractiveness. It’s like choosing between Aragorn from _The Lord of the Rings_ and a cowboy plucked from a Lorelei James novel. (Which Cas definitely hasn’t read… ever...)

“Sam’s big into dogs,” Dean reaffirms with the roll of his eyes.

“And… BDSM?” Cas asks.

Dean snickers.

Sam sighs. “I’m Indiana Jones. Greatest fictional historian of all time? Famous for his fedora and whip?”

“Oh, right. Sorry, I was more into _Star Wars.”_

Dean turns to Sam with the smug purse of his lips. “I told you it would’ve just been easier for you to be the devil. But you didn’t want matching costumes.”

Sam mimics his brother, rolling his eyes as he continues down the hall. He even flicks the whip a couple times.

“So, is there any reason you chose to be an angel?”

Dean’s been done wrapping Cas’s right ankle for a while, and he’s already written a prescription for generic ibuprofen and a decongestant, so he can lean back in his chair if he wanted. But something’s stopping him. Something Cas can’t see. “It was the cheapest costume piece at Party City,” Dean shrugs. “I mean, I already have the white suit. That’s the only thing I needed to make it official.” His smile wavers stating the second half of his answer: “And my mom used to tell me angels were watching over me. So I figure I must be like royalty, right? Maybe I’m part angel.”

Cas shakes his head softly. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“It’s alright,” Dean says. “I don’t get too sentimental over it.”

Cas smiles a little before clapping his hands lightly on his leather pants. “So, am I all set?”

“Don’t forget your prescriptions.” Dean swivels behind him before turning back to Cas. The paper’s small enough for their fingers to brush. Dean has nice hands. Calloused and jutting at the knucklebones, but slender—and freckled, even, like his cheeks. “Remember to ice your nose and ankle a few times a day for twenty minutes, rest your legs as much as possible, and take the NSAID as needed for both. Your nose isn’t fractured, but it’ll still be a good idea to use that nasal decongestant twice a day to keep those cavities open.”

“Open cavities, rested legs, got it.”

Dean’s face bunches up like his white pant scrubs, but not without a small smile. “That wasn’t supposed to sound so suggestive.”

“I mean, I’m not complaining,” Cas remarks, giving Dean his own onceover. He prides himself on the rouge panting Dean’s face. They make his freckles pop even more.

“Is that an invitation for a date?”

Cas nods as he feels his lips splitting into a slightly open-mouthed smile—as much as his taped-up nose will allow, anyway. “Yes. It definitely is.”

“Sweet—oh, and just so you know, there’s an alternative medication.”

“Oh?”

“It’s true: My lips have been said to perform miracles.”

Cas blushes and ducks his head before looking at Dean again. “Is this a widely accepted practice or…?”

“Only for my particularly adorable patients,” Dean quips, smile cranked to full-blast.

 

 

From that day forward, Cas swears off apples. After all, he wouldn’t want to keep the doctor away.

 


End file.
